our rocking chairs nod
at the distance
one potted palm leaf
drapes across its vase
part palm tree
part ballerina
at your grave
tomes of light stripe the darkness
at twilight where melancholy breaks even
with sun
what we humans call memory:
blue light scattering
after silk is folded
blue like the light over
your tombstone
or your eyes
in those last years
when you were blind
and lived in shadow.